


need of neither thread nor needle

by reptilezoo



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Trans Character, Yes I'm Processing Some Things About Gender Thank You For Noticing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reptilezoo/pseuds/reptilezoo
Summary: Asra mends his apprentice's top surgery scars.





	need of neither thread nor needle

**Author's Note:**

> I was smitten with Asra almost as soon as I started playing this game, so I wanted to write at least a bit of fic with him...and when it came up that he can fix scars no problem this was immediately what I jumped to lol. Listen lmfao I'm trans and I want this nonbinary witch twink to #validate me
> 
> I wrote this with my they/them apprentice in mind, but Asra doesn't gender them in the fic so feel free to read identity into it as you like I guess? Anyway hope y'all enjoy me being on my bullshit forever (•́⌄•́๑)૭✧

“Coffee? In this weather?”

Asra doesn’t even try to hide the curl of his lips. I act like I didn’t hear him and swill the last of the fine grounds through the filter. He watches me in silence as I rinse off my pourover setup (delicate silver, an old prize from travels whose brew is yet to be beat) and spoon an ample amount of sugar into my cup. Asra pats a cushion next to him on the floor, like I need prompting to be near him. 

Narrowly avoiding spilling my drink, I settle close enough that our knees touch and take a long, deliberate sip. It’s good, and contrary to what Asra thinks, the stifling heat of the evening makes it better. He might not get the appeal, but it’s how I learned to take it when I was young. Burned tongue and all. Ow. Its familiar smell calms my nerves, though the hand delicately laid on my knee does a lot more to slow my pulse.

“Do you want to get started, then?” 

I suck in a long, slow breath, then nod. The lantern light in the room is already low, muted further by the patterned fabric draped and decorated around the walls and ceiling. Even so, I can just make out a little glint in Asra’s eyes. He’s excited. He’s nervous. He’s the same as me.

I pull off my necklaces just to have them out of the way, discard them to the side. My shirt follows without ceremony - my fingers jitter slightly over the buttons, but I don’t think Asra notices. I’m glad for that. The boy already worries about me more than I do. I look back up once I’m settled and ready, and am surprised to catch a little red coming into Asra’s face as he takes me in.

“Asra.”

Lightly intoned, not to chide him. I like the attention, but we’re busy. His gaze snaps to mine again.

“It’s a nice view.”

He look down and folds his hands in his lap, clearly embarrassed. It’s cute. I smile weakly. Two thick crescents of scar tissue encircle the front of my chest, silvery surgical reminders I’ve had longer than I’ve even known Asra. I don’t believe him when he says it’s a nice view, but it doesn’t do any good to argue him on it. Never does.

“Let’s just get this dealt with.”

My voice comes out flatter, colder than I mean it to. Asra’s face falls a little, and I immediately regret not watching my words. 

“If you’re not feeling right about this-”

I clap my palm over his mouth before he can continue. When I touch his skin, I feel a flicker of magic, nervous energy, skimming over him and onto me like static. 

“I’ve spent more time than I ever wanted to agonizing over this.”

It’s a little hard to keep my voice even this time. When I speak, I gesture with a free hand to myself, to where the almost perfect symmetry of scars crosses and curves over me. Old marks, telegraphing for all to see what I used to be. The body I had to bear for years, til I could find a physician who understood what I really needed. And it wasn’t that I regretted it - I never could, not after the blinding high of wearing an open cut shirt for the first time, my chest still stitched and bandaged over tight. It had never been a question of whether the process itself was the right call to make. That wasn’t why Asra was here with me tonight, tucked quietly into a warm and dark corner of our room like the only two people in the world.

He reaches to me, thumbs a scar with tender reverence. The soft pad of his finger travels a pale stripe. I barely feel it - even now, there’s still numb patches along my chest. It’s to be expected, when your body is opened and reshaped like that. Smoothed down to flat planes. It took me years, after, to understand I wanted more. Longer still to ask for it.

It was the first time I saw him heal someone that I knew what it was I needed. I’d seen healing magic before, back home, done it myself even, but it was the first time I’d seen someone pass their hands over a body and leave no mark at all. In those endless moments, my breath caught tight in me. Asra’s fingers skated over the butcher’s palm and melted a thick, ugly scar away like wax. It was like nothing to him - he did this frequently, small magical favors as payment when we didn’t have the money for food. But it was then that I knew what was missing from me. On anyone else, I’d admire them - proof of victory, of a life and body that had been earned. But it wasn’t what I wanted to wear.

“Um.”

I glanced up from my mug, at this point was drained almost to dregs. Even in the dim light, I can make out a fierce red in his cheeks.

“Would you mind taking out your piercings. I don’t, uh. I don’t want to accidentally heal over them.”

He glances down, unable to make eye contact, and I notice the flush actually reaches his ears. I can’t help but laugh, and I give Asra’s face a gentle pat.

“I thought the novelty of these would have worn off on you by now?”

They certainly have for me, anyway. The times they snag on clothes aside, mostly I forget they’re even there. Some nerve endings never come back, it seems. Asra’s hand, almost as warm as his face, comes to meet mine on his cheek.

“Nothing about you ever becomes less of a marvel.”

It’s my turn to go red. I can actually feel the heat roll off my cheeks immediately, and Asra’s expression flips from flustered to mischievous like a switch had been hit. My skin’s several shades darker than his, but it doesn’t hide an embarrassed blush any better than his does. I give Asra a soft peck on the mouth to shut him up for a minute, before he makes my heart flutter any faster. After a moment’s fiddling, I get both bits of jewelry out of my chest and set them aside carefully, where I’m pretty sure they won’t get lost among the cushions and rugs insulating the floor. My breath comes out of me long and shaky before I speak.

“Ready when you are.”

Asra squeezes my hands, and the familiar thrill of his magic travels up my arms and through my chest. It’s as soothing as a hug - and more intimate.

“Okay. Close your eyes.” 

I do what he says, and as soon as I do I feel lips brush my nose in the lightest of kisses. A smile tugs the corner of my mouth. This boy. Seeing nothing heightens my senses a little, and I feel his fingers ghost up to my chest to the scars. Asra’s touch glancing over my arms is so delicate I could have missed it. I wish that somehow, though his hands press against me, he wouldn’t be able to feel my heart hammering my ribs like it’s trying to escape. 

I’m not scared. It’s the prospect of what’s about to happen, that I was even able to ask this of Asra in the first place, that sets blood pounding in my ears. His hands settle comfortably onto me, wrapping around my ribs and spreading his fingers over the scars. Asra’s hands are just big enough that he can span them between middle finger and thumb. 

It happens faster than I expect. The breath is drawn out of my lungs, like his aura is filling them instead of air. Asra’s hands feel like they’re becoming part of me, and my skin melts under his touch. But it’s not painful. It’s not even unpleasant. It’s traveling all through me, and I can sense something weaving together. Hot and golden.

There’s the friction of his palms, running slow and firm out along the contours of my chest like he’s smoothing out a shirt, and then all too soon his touch is gone. Without thinking, my hands chase after his, fluttering without seeing for want of his skin. Asra catches them easily and enfolds my fingers with his own.

“You can look now, you know.”

There’s no nervous tinge at the edges of his voice anymore. I do as he says, and my gaze travels down my own bare skin. I don’t know what I expected, what I’d imagined could be there someday. For all the time I spent wanting to change, and after the change, all the time I spent wanting to ask Asra, I’d never really visualized it. None of that mattered now, though. 

What my shaking fingers traced was better than I could have hoped. Smooth, unbroken skin, without even the slightest signs left where the surgeon’s needle had moved through me. That I had ever been anything like this. Perfectly. He’s done it perfectly.

I glance up again, catch Asra’s own bare chest slightly exposed by the low cut of his shirt, and it occurs to me that we’re shaped just the same now. For some reason, it’s that thought that makes me bury my face in Asra’s neck, squeezing him tight so he can’t see my face twist up. The scent of his hair and skin washes over me, and I can feel him stifle the tiniest laugh as he loops his arms around my shoulders. When I’m sure my eyes aren’t watering anymore, I let him go, fingers unknotting from his hair enough that I can lean back and let him look at me. All shiny and new.

“So. How do I look?”

My traitorous voice, shaking like a baby deer. It would be. Asra’s hand finds my chest, my collarbone. My cheek. Tender as ever. The love in his face is so unguarded it’s hard to look at him.

“Happy.”


End file.
